Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (40 page)

“You wanted to see me without my clothes, in fact.”

“Since the wedding,” he admitted, not quite willing to admit that he had wanted to see her naked from the first moment he had seen her smile.

“Am I desirable, Antony?”

He swallowed. “I think there is no man in his senses who would not find you desirable.” She was breathing normally again, and her color had returned. He said, “Can you feel your toes and fingers now?”

“Still a little tingly, but I can feel everything. Will you kiss me again?”

“I will,” he said, lightly kissing her cheek, “but then we will sleep, for tomorrow we must decide how we are going to protect the Duke.”

She moved against him, turning her face up in clear invitation. He could not resist, and this time when his lips touched hers, her mouth opened and her tongue darted out to meet his, teasing him until it was all he could do not to take her at once. Thinking to teach her a lesson, he plunged his tongue into her mouth, holding her tightly, then pressing her back against the pillows, but she only demanded more.

Clutching at him, she moved her hands over his body as if she were urging him to possess her. Knowing he had awakened innocently sleeping passions, he wondered if she would ever forgive him—if, knowing what she now knew about herself, she could ever be happy as a single woman. She had insisted she wanted the experience, and he had not wanted to deny her, or himself, the pleasure. He knew he would not deny her if she came to him again another night, either, but now he forced himself to pull away, saying firmly, “That’s enough. You may sleep here if you like, but before we explore further, I want to know you are not making a foolish choice in the heat of passion. Believe me when I tell you that things will look different in the morning.”

She glared at him, furious, but she did not argue.

“Good night, angel.”

She sighed. “Damn you, Antony.”

W
HEN CHARLEY AWOKE THE
next morning, she was still in Antony’s bed, but he was gone. She had fallen asleep quickly and had no memory of dreams or stirring in the night, but now memories flooded into her mind. Clearly, there were things about married life, and about men, that she had never known or considered before now.

The curtains were shut, and since she knew he had not bothered to shut them after she entered his bedchamber, she assumed he had drawn them that morning so the sunlight—if there was sunlight—would not wake her. His bedchamber, like hers, faced west in any case, but the gesture had been a thoughtful one. She was finding, in many ways, that she rather liked being looked after.

She liked other things, too. When she recalled what he had done the previous night, her body tingled all over again. Such a pity, she thought, that it had betrayed her just as matters got particularly interesting. Wishing yet again that she had someone with whom she could talk about such things—another woman, with more experience than she had—she sighed and stretched. She missed Melissa.

Three weeks had passed since she had written, so she knew a reply must come soon. She had no doubt what it would say, for once Melissa got over the shock of learning she had married, she would insist that Seacourt Head House was entirely at their disposal. But when Charley tried to imagine confiding details to her of the past weeks—and the previous night—she found herself grinning. Even as a married lady, Melissa would not, she felt sure, be entirely receptive to such personal confidences.

She stirred restlessly, trying to recapture the sensations that Antony had awakened in her, but she could not. Remembering his prophecy that she would regret the impulse that had driven her to him, and to his bed, she wondered if he regretted giving in to her even to the extent that he had. Would he be disappointed, or surprised, to learn that far from regretting her impulse, she looked forward to repeating the experience, even to expanding upon it? She did not think he would refuse her a second time.

Wondering where he had gone, she remembered that he intended to find a way to protect Wellington from the men who wanted to capture or kill him. The thought brought her upright, for she wanted to know what he would do. More than that, she wanted him to include her in whatever he planned.

Slipping from the high bed, she hurried to her room where Kerra had opened the curtains to reveal a sky presently clear of both storm clouds and fog. She rang the bell, and when the maid arrived, bringing hot water, Charley said, “Fetch my riding habit while I wash, please, Kerra. Is Sir Antony still downstairs?”

“He was in the breakfast room when I come up, ma’am. He don’t dawdle about, but the papers came, so happen he’ll be looking at one or another of ’em yet.”

He was reading the
Times
when Charley entered the breakfast room, but he lowered it and gave her a long, thoughtful look.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

His smile was crooked and did not reach his eyes. “No regrets?”

“Not one.” She looked more closely at him. “You look as if you’ve got a few, however. Vexed, sir?”

“With myself, not with you. We played with fire last night, angel. Fire burns.”

“We are not children, Antony. I am four-and-twenty, and you’re—”

“Older than that, but the stakes are high, and since this marriage is a sham, it behooves us to take care.”

“Does that mean you won’t give me any more lessons? You said you would, you know.”

“It means that we must beware of the consequences. You don’t want a husband, and I don’t need the responsibility of a wife and perhaps a child. We both have put more faith than we should in your determination never to marry again.”

Before she could reassure him that she never would, the footman looked in to see if she required anything that he had not already set out. “I’ll have tea, John,” she said, peeking under the nearest lid. “Oatmeal porridge! Don’t you ever eat anything else for breakfast, Antony?”

“Toast and coffee,” he said. “One thing I missed during my years on the Continent was good oatmeal porridge, and to have it swimming in rich Cornish cream is an added pleasure. Don’t you like oatmeal?”

“I’d rather have ham and toast with a boiled egg, or just toast and honey.” Taking the honey pot with her to the table, she sat down opposite him. “Do go on reading your paper if you like. Has anything of interest occurred in London?”

“The Metropolitan Police Bill will get a third reading today in the House of Lords,” he said, “and Wellington will lead the discussion on Friday. Now his enemies oppose the bill because it does
not
include the City of London.”

She chuckled, spreading honey on her toast. When he folded the paper and put it down she said, “Where is Letty?”

“Riding with Jeb, Sebastian, and Jeremiah. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Have you devised a plan yet?”

His eyes twinkled. “I have not, and I’ll thank you not to discuss that particular subject where anyone else might overhear you.”

“But I want to know what you mean to do. Moreover, I want to help.”

“Very well.” The footman returned with her tea, and Antony shot her a mocking look as he said, “That will be all, John. You may shut the door.” When the man had gone, Antony said, “We must first think of a way to divert any vessel that might try to waylay the Duke’s ship. Have you any notion how we can do that?”

“Wellington means to land at Fowey, does he not?”

“Yes. If I could have got word to him to land elsewhere, like Falmouth, that might have done the trick, but I knew of no way to tell him in time, or of knowing afterward whether he had taken my advice.”

“Falmouth would have been more sensible,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s only thirteen miles from Truro. Why is he landing at Fowey?”

“Because that was his original plan. Not only did your grandfather invite him to dine at Tuscombe Park the evening after the consecration, but Wellington wants the people of Cornwall to see him. He means to travel in style from Fowey to Truro, then take a roundabout way back to Fowey by way of Lostwithiel and Tuscombe Park. Since Alfred renewed St. Merryn’s invitation, he had no need to alter those plans. I’d intended for us to meet him in Fowey and travel with his party to Truro, but now …” He paused.

Charley was still thinking, listening with half an ear, but when he fell silent she looked up and said, “If he leaves Portsmouth Saturday morning and arrives at Fowey in the middle of the night, as most likely he will unless the wind blows directly from the east—” She broke off, adding, “He will sail from Portsmouth, will he not?”

“Yes, it’s the quickest route from London, but although we know it takes about eleven hours by road from London to Portsmouth, the winds, the weather, and the tides will dictate how soon he will arrive in Fowey.”

She frowned. “Won’t they keep watch for him off St. Merryn’s Bay? If you could somehow manage to intercept his ship between here and Plymouth …”

“We could never be certain of doing so. He won’t be flying the Royal Standard, after all, and there is a lot of water between here and France.”

“But won’t he sail along the coast?”

“Not likely. Sailing too near the coast can be dangerous, and with capricious winds, it’s not unusual for ships to sail nearly to France to reach Cornwall. Locating one ship in particular, at night, would be nearly impossible.”

“Then how will the assassins find him?”

“I don’t know. The strangest thing about this is that, in all this time, I have not heard a word about any plot against Wellington. No matter how careful they’ve been, or how secret their plan, I should have heard at least a whisper. I know they expect to land goods of some sort within the next sennight, but if any lad I’ve talked with knows Wellington is a target, or that the main action is to take place at sea, I’ve seen no sign.”

“You said they don’t really trust you,” she pointed out.

“True, but most of the lads anticipating work are spotsmen, lookouts, and tubmen, not sailors. They expect their prize to come to them. In any event, as I said, there is no way for them to be certain of waylaying the Duke’s ship in the Channel. That is precisely why, if I’d had my way, he would have sailed from London to Falmouth, done the road between Falmouth and Truro in a well-guarded coach, and then we’d have gone straight back to London after the ceremony.”

It was the first time Charley had considered the possibility that Antony might leave Cornwall with the Duke. “Must you go back with him?” she asked with an unexpected lump in her throat.

“No,” he said evenly. “I have matters to attend to here first.”

She caught his gaze and held it. “What matters?”

“Did you think I would simply abandon you, then attend to the annulment and set up your independence after I returned to London?”

His tone challenged her, but she said calmly, “Since it only just now occurred to me that you might return with the Duke, I hadn’t thought about the rest of it at all. Won’t some of that business
have
to be looked after in London?”

“Certainly, but there will be papers to sign here, too,” he said, getting up.

“Don’t go yet,” she said, adding quickly, “You haven’t said what you mean to do—a-about Wellington, I mean.”

He paused, gazing solemnly at her. The silence lengthened before he said, “I want to think more about that.”

“You don’t intend to tell me!”

“Yes, I will, if only because I don’t trust you not to go haring off on your own.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He smiled then. “Will you give me your word of honor that you won’t?”

She hesitated, but when his smile twisted sardonically, she said, “I’d give it in an instant if I thought I could trust you to confide your plans to me.”

“Touché,”
he said. “I deserved that, I expect. I’ve told you before, I don’t trust easily, angel, even though I know you would not harm me intentionally. By the same token, however, I need to know where you will be, so your actions don’t inadvertently compromise mine. We must also consider Letty. I don’t know what I’ll be doing during the next two days, and I don’t want either of you to miss that ceremony.”

“No, I must be there to take my part, and Letty is quite looking forward to it.”

“I know, but I can hardly take the pair of you into Fowey and leave you at an inn alone until the Duke arrives. Folks would wonder where Sir Antony had got to, and if he appeared with you, they’d watch us too closely for me to accomplish anything.”

“Letty and I could meet you in Fowey early Sunday morning,” she suggested.

“You could, but in truth, I’d feel less concerned about your safety, and hers, if you would agree to spend Saturday night at Tuscombe Park and travel to Truro with Alfred’s party. If you will do that, then I need only look after Wellington.” When she hesitated, he said, “You could suggest to them that I had important business with the Duke, although that might make Alfred squirm if he thinks I am pleading my case for the St. Merryn estates. Perhaps you’d better tell them I’m meeting an old friend, Harry Livingston, whom I’ve not seen in years, and I feared you would be bored. Harry is on the Duke’s staff, and will dine at Tuscombe Park with us after the ceremony.”

“Very well,” she said with a grimace. “That was not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to help, but I daresay Alfred won’t need much explanation as to why you don’t want to be saddled with me or Letty.
He
would think us very much in the way.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Yes, but now you must tell me what you mean to do about Wellington.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” When she nodded, he sat down again and leaned back, stretching out his legs and folding his arms across his chest. His eyes twinkled. “The best part of keeping one’s counsel is that one need never reveal slowness of mind, and can always look brilliant after the fact without ever admitting to stupid ideas or plans gone awry. Dare I confess now that I haven’t got a notion of what I intend to do?”

His humor was contagious, and Charley felt herself responding, wanting to reach out and touch him, to tell him they would find a way together. But touching him might lead to other things, and at the moment, Wellington’s safety must come first. “Have you no ideas at all?” she asked. “How do you usually devise one?”